What does it mean to bring disgrace to one's scholarly dignity?
What does it mean to ask me to give you a big earful?
Three question marks appeared on Zhang Fusheng's forehead. He raised his eyebrows and looked directly at the calm and unruffled middle-aged Daoist,
thought for a moment, clasped his hands and spoke:
"Fellow Daoist Primordial, do not make fun of me with such things. With my current modest cultivation, how could I possibly strike a Daluo?"
The expression of the middle-aged Daoist remained constant, calm and serene, without any discernible joy or anger,
giving Zhang Fusheng the impression much like that Celestial Lord of Tao and Virtue who revered effortless naturally.
At this moment, He quietly spoke:
"With just Fellow Daoist Fusheng, naturally, there's still some way to go, but if you were to borrow the body of this poor Daoist?"
Zhang Fusheng was even more perplexed.
Borrow the body?
He was somewhat bewildered, seeing the middle-aged Daoist slowly speaking:
